MealTime
by Dr Megalomania
Summary: A small series of ficlets presenting diffeernt sides to the pilots ... What's leaving Heero stunned in the kitchen? Why's Duo getting turned on by chocolate sauce? What's Trowa's problem with breakfast? Why's Quatre in such a bad mood? And whats so specia
1. Good Cook

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. . . Nor do I lay claim to the wonderful Cowboy Bebop song, 'Don't Bother None'. This story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo – 'cause, just like with 'In This Tainted Soul' something she wrote set my muse off on a all-out writing crusade!!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

//Thinking//

"Speaking"

*Stress/Emphasis*

~*~

**MealTime**

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various meals. This one is mostly Heero's POV, Humour. Please R&R at the end!!

_Zero One: Good Cook_

Duo Maxwell.

The Oxymoron Gundam Pilot.

The Self-Proclaimed God Of Death.

The Talented Mister Chatterbox.

The Almighty Annoying Braided Baka.

The . . . Good Cook?!

Yes. 

That's my reaction too. 

But there he is, fussing over the perfection of his meatballs . . . the softness of his rice . . . Kami-sama . . . And the safe-house isn't even singed. I felt a nerve ending in my cheek twitch, as he turns, braid neatly doubled up and tied so not to get hair into the food --- Kami-sama, he's actually a good cook?!

I came home, a few hours earlier than expected, from my mission. Everything had gone according to plan, and I came home expecting to enjoy yet another one of his Maxwell's specials . . . Take Out from the local Chinese . . . We – meaning Wufei, Trowa and Me (Quatre doesn't join in, because he thinks it's disrespectful to Duo to assume it will happen) – poured over the menu, already choosing what to order later that night. Like we do ever time it's Duo's turn to cook. 

But . . . 

_But . . ._

Kuso!

It takes a lot to stun me. 

Massive explosions? Don't bat an eyelid. Self destructing my Gundam? Not even a muscle twitch. Seeing Shinigami in a sunshine yellow apron with 'Resistance Is Futile, You **WILL** Eat Pie!' printed on it, humming gently to the jazz music from the radio, casually stirring the carrots? The Perfect Solider is left slack jawed in the kitchen doorway. 

What the--?! 

I gather my wits, and the fraction of a second passes. I move to my laptop with relative ease. As I perch behind the breakfast bar on my favourite high stool, I realise he either hasn't noticed I've come in, or is choosing to ignore me. I blink, as I switch on my laptop, still looking directly at him. He spins away from his stove, and falls to his knees. I lean forward to see if he's fainted, when I see his bottom wiggling as he struggles to reach, or find something from the very back of our cupboard. 

Wufei walks in, apparently following his nose. He frowns at me, plainly seeing I'm not the one cooking. His nose wrinkles up as he tries to figure out who is cooking then. Duo chooses that particular moment to sing a snatch of jazz . . .

_"I got thirsty so I went to a bar . . . met a lil darlin' with the face of a star . . . in the mornin', woke up to find . . . she'd stole my car, along with my heart, yeah!!" _

I swear Wufei couldn't get any paler . . . but there he was, white as a sheet. Black eyes as wide as possible. I swallow a laugh. . . he looks like a chibi-version of himself. He turns to me and points at Duo's bottom, mouthing, _'Maxwell?!'_

I nod slowly, as his eye begins to twitch. 

He steps forward, and inspects the bubbling stove as if he's expecting to see some trace of fast food packaging. I shake my head as Duo makes a small noise of discovery and crawls back out. He grins, and holds up the flour, "Found it!" 

I stare at him, eyebrow raised. Duo grins more, and shakes his head, "I love that song . . . I can't stop singing it even if it's impolite of me!" He nods, "So . . . erm . . . Hi Heero, how was your mission?"

"Hn." I grunt, considering he's understands what I mean – or at last that's what he claims, stating that he'll, one day, write a dictionary of the meaning of 'Hn.' – I see no reason to further explain that it evidently went well considering I'm back and unscathed.

"That good, huh?" He shoots back absently, measuring out the flour in a very precise way. "Hmm, Wufei? Get some milk out the fridge; I've decided we're having cake for afters . . ."

Wufei moves quietly, I think he's still in shock. 

Quatre's voice precedes him, as he and Trowa walk into the room. "Hey? What's cooking that smells so good, Duo?"

"Meatballs!" Duo calls back again absently, it seems like the main portion of his concentration is fully centred on cake he's mixing up. He quietly directs Wufei to pour in some milk, just as Trowa walks through the door. The tall boy stops so suddenly, there a quiet 'Hmpt!' as Quatre walks into the back of him.

His single visible eyebrow rises about a millimetre, the only outward sign of his shock. Quatre chuckles as he gently urges Trowa forward, "Mmm . . ." The blonde hums, "Sounds good! And for afters?"

Duo grins, wiping his nose and getting a little bit of flour on the very tip of his nose. "Victorian Sponge Cake, with lemon filling, and a light fudge chocolate icing . . . with a hot, lightly flavoured, lemon sauce . . . Naturally—" Duo explains in a tone of a gourmet chef, "The side to this will be white chocolate ice cream!"

"Naturally." Replies Quatre, as he bends over the stove, "The meatballs?"

"Accounting for the fact Trowa's not a huge beef fan, I've made sure that the pork mince out weighs the beef ever so slightly . . ." The braided chef holds up his finger, "*However* this will not detract from the taste." He smiles warmly as he shows off the various pots and pans, "This will be served with boiled baby potatoes, steamed carrots, lightly seasoned rice with an oriental twist . . . topping off with a thick but still light gravy made from the stock from the meatballs." Duo turns from the stove and motions Quatre over to the fridge, "Naturally there's a side dish of salad, a fresh mixture of seasoned tomatoes, a balance of the greens, and the all important dressing as an optional extra."

Quatre beams, and nods, "Looks like you thought of everything!"

"Not quite," Duo shakes his head, blushing slightly, "I still haven't decided whether a red or a white would go better with the main course."

Finally I open my mouth to say something other than my standard 'Hn.', and yet I wish I didn't sound so naïve. "A red or white what?"

Quatre blinks and smiles at me, as Duo turns the full force of his Gourmet Chef upon me, "Why, a red or white _wine_!" He chuckles and quickly paces over to sit beside me. He smiles at me, as he asks sincerely, "Which do you think?" He reaches past me to grab two bottles on the other side of my laptop. "Now, a red might be a bit overwhelming what with the meatballs, and gravy, but I think a white would be too sweet . . ." He trails off, looking to me to decide. I glance up at Quatre who smiles at me with that damned 'See? I told you so' look of his, Trowa's still in shock . . . that eyebrow of his has inched up a few more notches . . . and Wufei . . . Wufei looks even more like a chibi now. 

Inwardly their shock annoys something in me. So? So, Duo has a talent none of us possess. So, Duo can cook. So? Admittedly it's not something we expected, but there's still no need to go overboard with the shock. 

I glance at the labels, both of them are a good year, but he's right, one would be too much, and the other too sweet . . . I swallow imperceptibly, and stand up. Duo blinks, "Oi, Heero . . .?"

I reach into a cupboard that is always mine, and that nobody's supposed to touch and nod slightly as I pull out a bottle of port. 

----

As he presents the bottle to me, I don't know what to say . . . yes, he's left Shinigami speechless. And when he starts telling me about the bottle, it's year, it's properties, the taste, and the vineyard it was brewed in and why it would be better than either of my choices . . . 

My god.

He's an expert in wines . . .

_Owari_


	2. Chocolate Sauce

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. . . This story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo – 'cause, just like with 'In This Tainted Soul' something she wrote set my muse off on a all-out writing crusade!!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

//Thinking//

"Speaking"

*Stress/Emphasis*

~*~

**MealTime**

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various meals. This one is Duo's POV, Humour, with suggestions to Yaoi, implied 3x4x3 and 2x1. Please R&R at the end!!

_Zero Two: Chocolate Sauce_

He's gonna miss.

I can see it now, that blob of chocolate sauce just waiting to roll off. 

He'll never make it . . . and he'll kill me if I interfere!

But . . . but . . . it's such a waste!! I've gotta do something! It's Chocolate sauce. Damnit!!

I chew my lip as the Moment Of Truth comes, will he be able to catch that one blob of sauce or will it roll off and be wasted to napkin oblivion?! 

Argh!! The tension is killing me, and he's taking his goddamn time about it as well. How can he not notice it? It's chocolate, everyone notices when they have hot chocolate sauce about to roll off their spoon, don't they? Some make a mad dash for it, extending their jaw as if their mouths will comically extend and save the helpless chocolate drip. Others take it in their stride and lift their fingers to catch it. That's what Quatre does, he catches the hapless drip, and then raises his fingers up. . . depending on the time, and whether Trowa's here or not, he'll lick it off himself quickly and without fuss, or (if Trowa is here) slowly, deliberately, and sensually making promises with pale lips and a quick tongue. 

The Q-man's a little minx . . . he just won't admit it.

Of course Trowa's got his own way of saving chocolate sauce. If Quatre does catch some on his fingers, Trowa will grab Q's little pale wrist and suck off the chocolate, with eye contact if they had some that morning . . . or without eye contact, if they haven't. 

I see that eyebrow of yours raising, no . . . it's not 'cause I sit in on their little games, it's 'cause I was trained to notice body language and people's little timings, it helps with prison guards, don't you know?

Anyway, Wufei's not like that . . . Wu-kins, darling that he is, is a little more careful. He needs to get out more. He never puts too much sauce that it will run off. He's the preventive kind of person. He fixes his ice cream so it will never happen. What does that tell you about his sex life? 

The same position, but always satisfying. 

Ahem, so back to my predicament. 

Damnit! He'll lose it, and then he'll actually have to take off his spandex, and vest 'cause he'll get chocolate sauce all--- wait a minute! 

. . .

. . . Go for it! OBEY the law, OBEY gravity!! Drop like you were meant to, little blob of hot chocolate sauce, and take the rest of the ice cream with you!! 

Heh, heh . . . I'm not repressed . . . the fact I haven't gotten any since Hilde decided she was like me, closet gay, and half way out, has NOTHING to do with the fact that I want Heero to mess up his clothes. 

 And definitely nothing to do with the fact that I KNOW he hasn't got anything else, aside from his Preventers uniform to wear.

Nope. 

Not at all.

Damnit!! What's taking so long?!

Hoo-boy, do I need to need to get some? I'm almost creaming myself over whether or not Heero manages to catch a drop of chocolate on that sweet tongue of his or not. And if not, then how naked he's gonna have to get. I need to spank the monkey some more or get someone to spank me!

Preferably that would be Heero.

But no. No, no. The perfect soldier is probably perfectly Hetero as well . . . Damnit, why are all the handsome ones straight?!

I glance around the ice cream bar. It's unusual for us to be sitting out in the broad daylight like this . . . but what with the war being over, and us working for the Preventers, and Une-boss-lady-person being all on the Non-glasses side of the force, and it's being a very, very hot day . . . well . . . it all came to this.

Chocolate sauce, on our sundaes.

Wufei's being icky and having a scoop of orange and chocolate ice cream. Sorry, but chocolate and fruit is not allowed, it's dishonourable to the chocolate . . . I swear I could argue about justice and dishonour to Wufei about chocolate.

Trowa's being nice and simple, and having a scoop of mint-chocolate-chip, a scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough, and a scoop of double dark chocolate chip chocolate ice cream . . . hmm, methinks I'm not the only one addicted to chocolate.

Quatre's a little more traditional with his choice, two scoops of vanilla and a scoop of dark chocolate . . . but he gains points for the half bottle of chocolate sauce he's drowning the ice-cream in. 

I'm having two scoops of vanilla, two scoops of chocolate, one scoop of double dark chocolate chip chocolate ice cream, with the other half of that bottle of chocolate. 

And Heero . . . sweet little chocolate sauce and ice cream virgin, that he is . . . is having a small scoop of vanilla, one of chocolate, and a conservative amount of sauce. 

Back to the predicament, you see . . . Heero, being an ice cream virgin, doesn't know how to save chocolate sauce. I can see that Quatre's noticed as well . . . but like me, knows we'll be killed if we point out that Heero's not eating the right way. He was embarrassed as hell already because he had to admit that he's never had ice cream. Sweet, huh? 

I was this close to suggesting I could teach him all the wonders of chocolate sauce and ice cream in bed as well . . .

I close my eyes, and scoop up some more cold yumminess.  As I let the velvet hot sauce melt the lump of vanilla, I let my spoon fall back and stir absently. Oh, yeah, what I could teach him.

I hear a faint sucking noise, and smirk slightly. Trowa's gonna be sore in the morning if he keeps that up. The Q-man's easily aroused and I'm surprised he hasn't insisted we all go home now. I open my eyes to see Trowa's tongue take one last flick of Quatre's index finger, before the boy returns to his ice cream. 

They take it in turns, one week Q's the happy little boyfriend, with Trowa being the big silent one. On other weeks, Trowa can be as timid as a mouse, and Q's acting like he did during the war, a leader. It's sweet. Like Disney, only choked full with lotsa sex.

Me? I take it both ways too, but with Heero . . . mmm, nope, I'd havta stay top. At least in the beginning. You know teach him the ropes, make sure I don't get a headache and a split down below. Ouch, don't like that thought . . . Time for more sauce!!

I reach over to grab the sauce, and grin as Wu-kins chuckles. 

"You'll be as fat as a cat when you're thirty, Maxwell!"

I laugh, and shrug, "I'll be a happy cat, as long as I have plenty of the good stuff . . ." I tap the bottle on the table with a thump, ". . . and plenty of their good stuff for myself!" I jerk my head towards Quatre and Trowa, I split a huge grin, "Hey, why not mix the two!"

Wufei shakes his head, and chuckles. It's nice . . . I mean, since the end of the war, the man's loosened up. I can't believe this was what he was like before the war. Hair loose, and a pair of thinly rimmed reading-glasses perch on top of his head. Man, times changing, eh?

The Q-man's finally had a bit of a growth spurt, and his hair's a little longer. It flops over his brow a bit, but he always brushes it back with style. Trowa's filled out a little, much to ol' Cathy's delight I expect. Heero's pretty much the same really, I guess all that training just doesn't run out ya system. It's the same for all of us, but it's just like Heero's still stuck way back there. He's grown, but he's shorter than me. Not by much, just enough that if we were standing face to face, he's have to tip his head back slightly, and I'd have to look down on him.

Me? I'm the same, only my braid . . . to my complete delight . . . now brushes my butt . . .

Wait.

Not that kind of delight, you dirty minded sonova—

I mean I'm happy it's that long! 

Anyway!! Anyway, back to the daydream about Heero, me, a bottle of body temperature chocolate sauce, and some cold, cold, ice cream.

"Hn."

Heero's trademark grunt works itself quite nicely into the point of my daydream but still I know it's time for me to open my eyes. I blink as I stare at the chocolate cover tips of his middle and index fingers. 

What the--?!

I stare past them, to see Heero staring straight at me. His deep blue eyes flick to the side, and I know he's motioning Trowa and Quatre. The Wu-ster is politely looking elsewhere, and Q and T are at it again. I blink again, a silent question in my eyes. Why is he doing that? He knows what it means to T and Q, what it would mean to me . . . and he's supposed to be straight, isn't he?

I mean, Relena Peacecrap always is hanging off him, sooooo . . .

Heero shrugs in answer, and stares at me as he turns his wrist away slowly. His chocolate covered fingers going to his own mouth. Still as quick as ever, I recover from my shock and grab his wrist.

His eyes dart about, looking for a possible threat, or maybe just checking for anyone watching us before he allows a small smile to pass over his lips. I separate his fingers, and lick down his index finger first. My eyes open and ready for any look of disgust. A brief look of disappointment chases over his eyes, before I get it. 

I smile as I close my eyes, and know what I'm promising him.

Hell, I love chocolate sauce.

_Owari_


	3. Breakfast

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. . . This story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo – 'cause, just like with 'In This Tainted Soul' something she wrote set my muse off on a all-out writing crusade!!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

//Thinking//

"Speaking"

*Stress/Emphasis*

~*~

**MealTime**

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various meals. This one is Trowa's POV, no warnings except for the sap. Please R&R at the end!!

_Zero Three: Breakfast_

Quatre . . .

He's sweet.

Gentle. Kind.

Wide eyed innocence made human.

I stand in the shadow of the doorway, just watching him as he fusses about the kitchen. He's just . . . what? I don't know there's something about him that leads me to do this every time he sits down to breakfast. The way he goes about it signifies everything about him. To most people it's just a meal, but every day off, Quatre gets up, and makes himself, and whoever happens to be sharing the safe-house a good full breakfast. He's just incredibly kind like that.

It bugs the hell out of me.

I frown as he fawns over the pan of water boiling on the cooker. How can he be like this, so untouched by the war . . . wasting time preparing a simple meal with a waste of flourish. It's a meal that should only provide a good base for the rest of the day. That's what living with the mercenaries taught me. There was never time to waste over a meal, it was cooked and hot. That was all that mattered. Anything else was considered a waste of time, time that could be better spent cleaning the guns, checking the base for intruders, and planning the next strike. 

I sighed quietly so he doesn't notice me. 

He reminds me of my 'sister', Catherine, she is this way too. Taking too much care over such silly small things, like the presentation of a meal. He stoops to get something out of the fridge, just as a timer trills. The eggs must be done. I move out of hiding and take the pan off the stove. Quatre straightens and smiles brilliantly at me, "Would you like orange juice or tea with your breakfast, Trowa?"

I raise an eyebrow, and shrug noncommittally. "It doesn't matter."

Again, he smiles, "Very well . . ." He glances from the pot of brewing tea to the juice carton in his hand, as he make a decision. "We'll have both."

Both?! What a waste!

I nod, even though my more stubborn survival instincts rant at him, and his choice. As he takes care of the toast, and the table I take the eggs over to the sink to shock them. As the cold water runs, I turn and look at him. He's humming quietly, as he sets the table for two, facing each other to make some light conversation. I see he's already gone out for the newspapers as he folds them nearby in case conversation needs a little boost. 

Which of course it will, since Duo is not here, and I am not the most talkative of people. 

I wonder what Quatre would do without Duo. The two are best of friends, and are the only ones who will keep the conversation flowing. If it were just Wufei, Heero and myself . . . I bite back a derisive snort, we'd be content to sit around a fire for three days and say nothing more than planning for a mission.

I sometimes wonder why Quatre joined our merry band of fighters. Duo I understand, he's here for revenge and underneath that Joker's façade, he's as cold and mean as the rest of us. But Quatre? Quatre is genuinely this kind and sweet right down to the bone. 

"Are the eggs ready?" Quatre tosses over his shoulder, I turn and glance down, the steam is gone, and the eggs are probably set now. I grab a tea towel and cup my hand while the other pulls the eggs out of the tepid water.    

"Excellent!" Quatre crows as I place the eggs safely on the table. He seats himself and motions me to do the same. As I slid into my seat, I study his face. His expression is one of complete calm, but his eyes display a strange gratefulness. This is something I've never seen before, but know that it's something that somehow always occurs.

He blinks and looks up at me, the same expression still in his eyes, "Well . . . enjoy!" He smiles and reaches over to pour the tea. I stare at my plate and try to figure out why he would be so grateful for such a frivolous meal. I look up slightly and try to see what he sees.

I see a jug filled with chilled orange juice, with a steaming pot of tea. A rack of hot toast covered by a clean tea towel to keep the bread as warm as possible. A small makeshift nest made out of a tea towel, for the four boiled eggs. A small plate with butter and a clean knife. A selection of marmalades and jams, some thinly sliced meats. Salt and pepper. A newspaper, with it's supplements neatly piled nearby. Two eggcups, with two teaspoons. Two bone china plates, with two clean knives, wrapped in napkins. One bone china cup half filled with black tea, and my own rapidly filling with the same dark substance. A pot of sugar and a small jug of fresh cold milk are nearby. 

There's a quiet chink as the teapot is carefully set down, and he starts to prepare his tea with milk and sugar. I look up, the sunshine is streaming through the window, and the radio is providing a soft mix of chatter and music.

"What do you see?"

The words are out of my mouth before I even think of them. 

Quatre smiles, finishes with the milk, and stirs with the teaspoon. He puts the spoon down before he answers me. His aquamarine eyes stare directly into mine, as he rests his chin on his knuckles. Quatre smiles, and speaks softly.

"Proof. . . proof that I've lived, to see another day, another dawn. Proof that you've lived, that you've survived another cold night, another mission." 

I blink as his smile broadens, and I understand. I stare down at the meal once again and realise that this is his method of surviving.

Reminding us, that we've fought, we've survived, and now . . . 

I look up and incline my head gratefully.

. . . and now reminding us, to stop and take in the beauty that is this new day.

_Owari_


	4. Chicken Bone

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. . . Nor ddo I lay claim to the wonderful Cowboy Bebop song, 'Chicken Bone'. This story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo – 'cause, just like with 'In This Tainted Soul' something she wrote set my muse off on a all-out writing crusade!!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

//Thinking//

"Speaking"

*Stress/Emphasis*

~*~

**MealTime**

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various meals. This one is Quatre's POV, with pleas of a religious nature – but not too much – Humour, Yaoi, and 3x4. Please R&R at the end!!

_Zero Four: Chicken Bone_

_Chick-chi-chicken bone. _

_Chiky-chicken bone-bone._

It's cold. 

I wish I could be kept warm all night!

I hate the cold. 

Allah, do you hear me? I wish to be kept warm all night!

I reeeeally hate the cold. I glance at him, how can he sit there and stand this? It's freezing! I hate the cold. I hate it! He looks up at me, and nods quietly, "What would you prefer?"

I blink, "Pardon me?"

"Dark or light meat?" He takes his knife and motions the chicken . . . the dead chicken we captured. The farmer was only too helpful after we beat back the OZ soldiers. He gave us some vegetables, that chicken, and a bottle of wine. I stare at it's dead limp head, and balk. Yum. I look at him, he's so used to this. I'm not . . . and I know my more darker side is coming out. The side that made my childhood, and all those around me a complete misery. I can tell I'm only just preventing myself from pouting, and I can tell he's noticed too. 

"Erm . . ." I begin uncertainly, "Which do you suggest?"

A corner of his mouth hitches up, and he's internally laughing at me. I sounded like I was ordering from the wine menu. He knows I've never really had to survive in the wilderness before in my life. Why else would I always be the one to procure the best in safe-houses . . . the ones with huge swimming pools, massive kitchens, and my own staff. I can cook for myself, I just don't want to.

There.

I did it again!

I sound like I used to again! I sigh and shake my head as he starts to pluck the fowl, and carefully places the feathers aside. I look around; our Gundams sat side by side a little way off, hidden under camouflage nets and the thick trees. We're going to sleep in the Gundams, even he acknowledges that it would be foolish of us to sleep outside of them. It's far too cold.

_I like, you like, he likes, she likes . . . chicken bone. _

_Everyone loves it, crazy for that chicken bone. _

_My dog, my cat, my mouse wants chicken bone. _

_I lost my head over that chicken bone . . . _

_Chick-chi-chicken bone. Chiky-chicken bone-bone._

_ Heh, heh . . . destroy!_

The fire's warm, and I sit as close as I can without burning myself or setting my clothes on fire. I sigh, as he begins to cook the meat with some vegetables. He's intense, concentrating solely on the pan. Making sure it's not burnt. The way the fire lights his features . . . jade eyes dance with reflections of the fire, shiny brown hair flashing dark orange with every toss of his head. I clasp my hands around my knees and lean my chin on my kneecaps, trying to conserve my body heat, and hide my stares. 

Allah.

Help me.

His broad shoulders, strong arms . . . is this because I have 29 sisters? Was I meant to be a girl after all? Certainly have all the right feelings for one. But he's really, really attractive. Duo, who I know, and highly respect, is gay . . . and he says that Trowa is the kind of man one would just like to . . .

I blush and hide my face in my knees, thankful that I can use the stupid cold air as an excuse for my ruddy cheeks.

Allah. Seriously. Anytime time now.

The food appears to dance under his touch, the fire certainly dances, and as if to some unheard rhythm so does my heart. To do what to? Duo laughed at me when I asked him that. I can't help it, my life was so sheltered, and I was so wrapped up in myself I don't actually know that much about . . . well, you know. 

In a battle I'm fine, I can lead our group of soldiers. I can face down almost every enemy and still have a word of courage for my fellow pilots. But when it comes to things like . . . I swallow, and hate myself for the hesitation. When it comes to things like sex, and other such things I have to profess I just . . . just don't know anything. 

I know the basics, where what goes where but---

"Quatre?" His voice is tinged with concern and I look up. He's still stirring the food, but he looks at me with his dark green eyes full of worry. I smile, biting my lip still. 

"I'm fine." I murmured, trying not to choke under his gaze, "I'm just very cold."

It's plausible. I'm used to living in the desert! 

His lips part slightly, and I bit my bottom lip hard. He goes to say something, but ultimately changes his mind. Focused once more on the food, I find relief from his gaze. 

Oh Allah, you're all-seeing-all-hearing . . . I *know* you can hear me . . .

_Dreamin', dreamin', dreamin' 'bout the chicken bone. _

_Crazy, crazy, crazy 'bout the chicken bone. _

_Happy, happy, happy with the chicken bone. _

_Cross the garden, on my heart, that chicken bone.  _

The meal is delicious and we sit by the fire for a little while longer. Just unwinding. He's stretched out like a cat. Watching the fire on his side. His knife is clean and he's playing with the gutted skeleton of the chicken. I have to admit his skill at it was impressive. There's not a scrap of meat left on the bones, so we'll break that up and disguise the fact we've been here. He pulls apart the bones quietly; soft snaps punctuating the night's darkness.

I stare at him. I can't help it. I don't want to help it. 

The meal's made me feel warm and safe now, and I can feel the wine kicking in. I drank it, mostly because I don't want him to know that I've never done it before. I could almost hear him telling Duo, and then Duo laughing his head off, and pinching my cheek again. "Awww. . ." He would crow, "Our little Quatre's growin' all the way up!"

I frown slightly, I hate that.

I hate being the youngest one there. Even Heero, who's fairly inexperienced of everyday things, seems to look down at me for my naivety. I hear a chuckle and look up. Trowa's staring at me over the fire. "What's wrong?"

He smiles slightly . . . have you noticed? He only seems to smile when I'm around, the others are always complaining that he doesn't talk or smile enough. Not that it bothers Heero, but it bothers Duo and Wufei. 

"You look like you're trying to swallow a chicken bone."

I blink; it's not a phrase I've ever come across. "Pardon?"

Trowa gets up, and brushes himself off, "It's something my captain always used to say when I was trying to concentrate too hard on something." He looks up, and holds his hand out. "You look like you are thinking of something disturbing to you."

The fact that I might be homosexual, Trowa? The fact that it goes against what's expected of me as the Winner Heir, Trowa? That I find you so very attractive, that I'm actually willing to take the chance half my sisters will disown me, *Trowa*?!

What the--?! What was that last one?

I back up, and re-analyse that. I don't even know if Trowa's the same way—whoa, back up again. *I* don't even if I am that way inclined, let alone if Trowa is. I look at him and wonder. I know Wufei is straight, and I suspect Heero's bi, Duo's all the way out of the closet, but Trowa? I've never seen him with anyone, girl or boy. He keeps to himself, generally. Or he keeps me company. 

He smiles slightly again as I take his hand, still silent. 

_Toss it well with Cajun sauce, together, together! _

_Ooh, don't miss it, don't throw it away!_

 He's still holding my hand, as we walk through the dark forest without torches. He knows the way well, and has better eyesight than me. I let myself be led; still swallowing the chicken bone of thought he's thrown me into. I like it. His hand around mine, it's warm and I like the feelings I'm getting from it. The strength, and the slight roughness in his fingers make me wonder how those larger hands would feel against my skin. I find myself wondering what's wrong with my trousers, despite the cool night. 

Anytime Allah, anytime.

_Mix it with Cajun sauce, together, together! _

He's pulling me towards Heavyarms, and lets go of my hand to open the hatch. We're bathed in the light of his Gundam. I smile, ready to say good night and stumble towards my own mobile suit, when he leans back against his machine, and holds out a hand.

A perfect white wishbone is held in front of me.

He stares at me, and commands softly, "Take the other end. Whoever gets the larger piece makes the wish."

I grab the other side, smiling. I know exactly what I'll wish, the same wish I've been making to Allah all night now.  

There's a loud snap as the bone gives way. He glances at his half, and I glance at my own. Drat, I got the smaller piece I think. Trowa nods to himself as if coming to a decision. He glances up and motions me forward, I hold up my half to show him he doesn't need to compare the pieces for my sake, I know he won the wish.

His hair rustles slightly as he shakes his head and motions me forward, before dropping his eyes to his half of the chicken bone. What does he want? I walk forward, and don't stop until he looks at me again. 

As quick as lightning, I find myself leaning against the cool surface of Heavyarms' leg, and Trowa leaning towards me, not touching but close enough I can still feel his warmth. He lifts a hand to caress the side of my face, and stares at me as if still checking my response. I stare back surprised by his actions but not not enjoying them. He sighs, relief perhaps? And then he does it.

My eyes are wide as I feel his tentative lips brush mine, as he whispers.

"I wished for the courage to tell you I love you. What did you wish for?"

He kisses me before I can answer, I close my eyes as his warmth mixes with my own, and I feel the rightness in this. My small half of the chicken bone drops forgotten from my hand. I feel his smile again as I respond to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. Only when the need for air forces us back up, does he allow me to answer. 

_Oooh, it is good for your healthy life! _

_Baby it's true, 'cause we will love it to the bone, whoa, bone!_

I rub my nose against his, press my body flush against his, and thank Allah as I tell him what I wished for. Trowa chuckles in his very quiet way, and pressed his remote for the stand cable. I hold on tight as we are cranked up into the cool cockpit, and settle in together for the night, tipping the large seat into a lying position.

_Chick-chi-chicken bone. _

_Chiky-chicken bone-bone._

I wished to be kept warm all night.

_Owari_


	5. Chopsticks

Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. . . story is dedicated to my ever wonderful Beta-reader, the Bluegoo – 'cause, just like with 'In This Tainted Soul' something she wrote set my muse off on a all-out writing crusade!!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

//Thinking//

"Speaking"

*Stress/Emphasis*

~*~

**MealTime**

By Doctor Megalomania

Okay, so this is a series of little ficlets, there's no time line, no real point, nothing that links them, except for the fact they all came to me during various meals. This one is Wufei's POV, Warnings for a HUGE bucket of sap . . . blame Stir Fry, Disney's Aladdin, and DrM missing home. Please R&R at the end!!

_Zero Five: Chopsticks_

"Sponsored by Sand! It's everywhere . . . Seriously, get used to it, we're *surrounded* by the stuff!!"

A toddler.

"Hn." 

A rock.

". . ."

Silence made man.

"Duo, the sand is a beautiful background. . . combined with the sunset, it's very calming . . ."

And a woman.

I'm surrounded, not only by sand . . . but by the four other Gundam pilots. Maxwell's a toddler, Yuy's a rock, Barton is just a moving wall of silence and Winner is – no matter how much he protests - *is* a woman. I close my eyes tighter, and continue with my meditation. How dare they come up here. . . it's my last resort before taking to my Nataku. This sand-rock roof overlooking the Magnarac camp is perfect for calm meditations.

"Wouldn't you agree, Wufei?"

"Indeed. . . much meditation could be had up here . . ." I remain quiet on the rest of the sentence, it would be very calming. . . if the rest of them weren't here. I don't need them, I don't need anyone, but my Nataku. These morons are incapable of continuing the fight against Treize and his minions, why do they even bother being here?

Yuy once ranked high in my opinion, but then he blew it when he fell for Treize's trick! It was so obvious, I can't understand why he would fall for it. A clearly mark OZ carrier flying out in the middle of such a battle?! Of course they want you to shoot it down!

Hn. As he would grunt. 

Sighing, I open my eyes and take in the scene. They aren't going to leave anytime soon.

Barton and Winner lean against each other. No matter how much they try to conceal their attachment to each other, it is still clear that they are a source of weakness. Weak. Maxwell sits beside me, swing his legs over the edge, his long braid hanging over his shoulder and swinging in the breeze. His personality is not one of a soldier, if he were captured, I doubt he keep his mouth shut for very long. Weak. Yuy sits a little way off, lost in his own world, typing on that machine of his. He strains his eyes reading from such an unnatural source of light, and wears his finger tendons away typing. He is also weak.

Maxwell turns to me, and grins. He tilts his head in the most childish way. "Hey?"

"What?"

He blinks, and grins wider, "When's your birthday?"

I frown at him, "Pardon me?"

Maxwell chuckles, "Did you know . . . out of all five of us . . ." He glances over the small town again, the hustle and bustle carrying quietly on the wind. "Only two of us know our birth dates?" He turns to me, and presses my nose, "There's you, and then . . ." He points past me, at Winner, "There's him . . ." Before I can retort, he continues to ramble on, "Trowa doesn't know, because no one was ever there to tell him, I can't remember because I was an orphan since I was three, and Heero doesn't know because. . ." He trails off and looks at Heero, "Why was that again?"

"Because it wasn't necessary to my training, nor did Odin Lowe know." 

Heero rattles this off with out a pause in his typing, I roll my eyes and wonder, is this going anywhere? Maxwell turns to me, and leans forward, almost pressing his pixie-like nose against mine. Idiot foreigner. 

"Sooo. . ." His violet eyes fall serious for a few moments, and then return to their joker's sparkle, "Only you, Wu, and the Q-man, know the precise day you were born . . . isn't that interesting?"

No. I think, but I don't say it aloud. I don't want to deal with this Toddler's tantrum, or the Woman's rant about keeping together and being a family. 

Maxwell continues, "Do you want to know something even more interesting?" Again, mentally I answer in the negative, but remain silent as he continues, "The Q-man was a test tube baby . . . do you know what means?"

I restrain myself from rolling my eyes, and settle for sighing, "Please get to your point, Maxwell."

Maxwell pulls his legs underneath him, and suddenly I notice he's gone very serious, this is unusual. Now, he has my attention, whatever it is . . . I notice now . . . they've all been discussing. Yuy's stopped typing, Barton is actually holding Winner, and Winner is staring at me. 

"When's your birthday, Wufei?"

I blink, and decide to answer. 

"Today."

One more blink, and I'm staring at four small gifts being handed to me. They knew already. Then why bother asking? I wonder at this as I numbly take the gifts. No one has given me a birthday present since before I married Nataku. Winner gives me a glasses case, a beautiful ornate case with Arabic inscribed on it. Inside is a small note, with a translation of the case. Barton gives me a set of gloves, they are sturdy, and the note attached reminds me that Barton was thinking of when we were once stationed together in the snowy peaks of old Russia. My hands got so cold, I could hardly pilot.

Yuy's gift is simple and practical. A new hair tie. The note reading that he had noticed my old hair was beginning to fail in it's purpose, and that newer, tighter tying would assist in preventing the various strands from falling in my face.

Maxwell's gift almost brings tears to my eyes.

I can't explain it. But they reminded me of home. A simple, yet beautifully decorated chopsticks with one of my favourite sayings on them. I stare at the chopsticks in amazement.

"Ren Jie Di Ling." Maxwell's soft voice jolts me, as he speaks in perfect Chinese. I look up and find his pixie face smiling gently at me, he presses my nose again. "Inspired Scholar in an Enchanting Land."

Perhaps . . . I have misjudged them, their weakness are perhaps their strengths. I feel guilty for my previous accusations and am glad I didn't say them aloud. I gaze at them all, before dipping my head. "Shie-shie." I murmured in thanks.

Maxwell grins, seriousness still in his eyes, "Don't mention it." 

I gaze at him, and realise what he was getting at. They, the others, have no such day to celebrate, while I have ignored mine selfishly. Heero, Trowa and Duo are orphans, no family ties to bind them anywhere, Quatre may celebrate a day, but unlike mine his was chosen for him, no fate, nor nature involved. 

Heero packs up his laptop after a moment of silence, Trowa assists Quatre to his feet, and Duo swings his legs out from under himself. "Well, that's pretty much it, Wu!" He grins, as then stretches as if he's weary. As they all turn to leave the rooftop, and me to my meditation, I think hard about what I am about to say. 

"Wait."

They stop, and look back at me. I stand, holding my gifts securely. I stare at the chopsticks before making my decision. "I wish you all a happy birthday."

"But Wufei. . ." Quatre smiles puzzled, "It's *your* birthday."

"Indeed." I look at them, and smile slightly, "But as Maxwell mentioned, none of you have a real date for yourselves . . . therefore . . ." I glance away, it's almost like a woman of me to say this, "Therefore . . . you may share mine."

When I look back, instead of the looks of scorn, and amusement, I see Heero clutch his laptop just that little bit harder, his dark blue eyes hidden under that mop of hair. I see Quatre smile brilliantly at me, holding Trowa's hand just a little tighter. I see Duo blink, as if I've struck him dumb, and then one of those huge grins begin to light his face like a dawn.

"Really?" He murmurs disbelievingly, "You mean it?"

As I nod, Trowa disengages his hand from Quatre and walks across the roof to me. He smiles a small smile, and nods gratefully. "Thank you." He murmurs to me, "Thank you very much."

I smile, and shake my head. As we walk off the roof together, it strikes me that my entire way of thinking has changed. These pilots, my friends, my only family now, as I am theirs. We are the closest we can be. We are this way because of the way we have lived, live and will live. I smile as Quatre begins to describe the meal he's asked to have prepared for our first birthday dinner together. I notice a lot of the dishes are Chinese and that I will have plenty of opportunities to make use of my new chopsticks.

Which reminds me.

"Maxwell?" 

Duo blinks, and falls back with me, as the others proceed. "Yes, Wufei?"

"How long have you been able to speak Chinese?"

"I can't . . ." He smiles sheepishly, "It's one of the few languages I can read." I stare at him suspiciously, with a slight smirk, as he explains, ". . . especially on the package I bought them in . . ."

I roll my eyes as I laugh, and he blinks at me for a moment, before joining in. My whole view of them has been changed. And I have Duo to thank for it.

. . .

All this . . . and for a pair of chopsticks. 

_Owari_


End file.
